


Little Games

by JustAnotherWriter (N1ghtshade)



Series: Advent Calendar Gift Fics [2]
Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Creepy Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:52:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16820062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/JustAnotherWriter
Summary: “The rules here are quite simple. If you speak, if you argue, or protest, or threaten me, or if you scream…” Murdoc draws the final word out ominously, “then I’ll move on to Jack. See how long he lasts. And when he makes a sound, then it’s back to you.” He smiles. “Let’s see how far you’ll go to protect each other.”





	Little Games

**Author's Note:**

> This is the continuation of a short fic I posted a while ago, a gift for a Tumblr friend who I don't think has an AO3. If you do, give me a shoutout and I'll post it as such!

**The eerie whistling sends a chill down Mac’s spine.**

More so than the cold stone he’s lying against. The door opens and a faint light spills in, making the figure in the door stand out in silhouette. “Oh MacGyver,” Murdoc whispers cheerfully, “I think you’re going to like the game I have for us to play.”

Mac tugs at the thick plastic ties around his wrists, but there’s no give. His arms are twisted uncomfortably behind him, starting to ache. He’d guess he’s been here an hour, maybe a little more.

The last thing he remembers was driving Jack home from the memorial. _It wasn’t his fault but he sure as hell blamed himself for not getting there faster._ Jack had had a few too many beers to be trusted to get himself home safely, and Mac wasn’t going to lose someone else this week.

He thought he remembered headlights coming at them, swerving to miss, was there a tree? His head hurts and his right shoulder feels more damaged than the other, so maybe. And after that he remembers nothing until the whistling.

“I doubt I’ll like anything you have planned,” He snaps, ignoring the increasing pounding in his head.

“I’m sorry about your friend. I truly am. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all. Nothing against them personally.” Murdoc leans over and crooks a finger under Mac’s chin. “If you’d been where you were supposed to be, it would be you and not them.”

Mac can’t quite deny that he feels like that would have been the better option.

“And sadly, Jack’s in the wrong place too. If he hadn’t gotten himself so sloppy drunk, you’d have been alone in the car, and this would have been easy.”

Mac freezes.

“The rules here are quite simple. If you speak, if you argue, or protest, or threaten me, or if you _scream_ …” He draws the final word out ominously, “then I’ll move on to Jack. See how long he lasts. And when he makes a sound, then it’s back to you.” Murdoc smiles. “Let’s see how far you’ll go to protect each other.”

Without warning, he slashes a knife across Mac’s arm. Mac swallows down a startled yelp and glares at Murdoc. _He’s going to have to kill me. Because I’m not going to let him hurt Jack._

Staying silent during a painful interrogation is, sadly, almost easy at this point. Mac has extensive training, and even more personal experience; he can keep his mouth shut during almost anything. Even when he has a concussion and it looks like there are two Murdocs in the room. 

But still, everyone has a breaking point. In Mac’s case, it turns out to be his hands.

Murdoc gets bored, at some point, of slicing and stabbing. Always non-fatally, of course, the psychopath clearly doesn’t plan on letting Mac off easy and outright killing him. He comes back with a small bottle of something, and smiles when he opens it and lets the contents splash out over the open cuts he’s left. Mac bites back the agonized yelp in his throat and instead focuses on identifying the substance. He can smell alcohol and cayenne pepper, it’s probably something Murdoc’s whipped up himself. A little bit like the homemade tear gas Mac’s used on more than one occasion.

When that doesn’t get the reaction Murdoc wants, the man kicks Mac onto his side, and before Mac’s really aware of what’s happening, Murdoc brings his boot down hard on Mac’s unprotected, bound hands. This time Mac can’t quite choke back the scream. It hurts. 

“Well, well. Barely half an hour and already you’re cracking. Tsk tsk. You’re not any fun to play this game with.” Murdoc stands up with a parting kick to Mac’s damaged limb. “Maybe Jackie boy will have a better grasp of the rules.”

Mac waits until Murdoc is gone to curl on his side with a whimper, He can already tell at least two fingers are broken on his left hand, and there’s even more damage to the wrist on the right. But that’s not what hurts the most.

Jack is being hurt, and it’s all his fault. All because Mac couldn’t handle a few broken bones. 

He doesn’t know how much longer it is before Murdoc comes back. It could be hours, it could be days. But he does come back. And there’s an eerie smile on his face.

“You know, Jack is so very different than you. I could have bled him until he screamed, I know eventually he would have…” Murdoc wipes a spatter of blood off his cheek and Mac wonders if Jack spit it at him, “But he’s just not as much  _ fun _ to hurt as you are. It’s not artistry to wound a man with as many scars as Jack Dalton. I prefer a more original canvas.” He nods to Mac’s now gash-littered chest and sides. “Not a completely fresh one, unfortunately, but perfection is overrated.” He kneels and runs his fingers over the twin bullet scars on Mac’s left shoulder, the puckered pale line on his side that will never let him forget Cairo, the assortment of faint burns and scars that for someone who knows how to read them, detail Mac’s career in the field. “Your scars fade. Dalton seems to wear his as a badge of honor.” 

Mac knows what Murdoc’s talking about. The twisted slash running from Jack’s shoulder to his stomach, courtesy of a machete in Rio. The rough brown patch of a burn on his back, just below the right shoulder blade. The peppering of shrapnel scars on his right side, a collection of pale divots in the the skin. Mac was there for all of them. And there are so many more, reminders that Jack’s life existed before Mac came into it; that he was a hell of an agent, a Delta, an overwatch, for his whole life and Mac is lucky to have him. 

“Of course, I couldn’t help myself, so he’s still bleeding, a little. But it was so much more fun to tear into his mind.” Murdoc smiles again, a hand ruffling Mac’s sweaty hair. “I have so many plans for you, but apparently papa bear doesn’t share my excitement.” Murdoc chuckles. “I knew he wouldn’t be able to resist threatening me, not when I shared my ideas with him.”

Mac shivers. 

And then there’s a slamming sound, and a blurry shape smashes into Murdoc, dragging him sideways. Mac blinks, it’s hard to tell what’s happening, but he smells gunpowder and leather, which means Jack.  _ What is Jack doing here? _

And then Mac’s being picked up. He bites off a yell when the action jostles the battered hands tied behind his back. 

“Hey, kid, I’m gettin’ you outta here.” Jack’s voice sounds rough, and Mac can feel that he’s limping, but he carries Mac up the stairs and slams the door behind them. 

“H-how…” 

“You’re not the only resourceful one, kid,” Jack says. “Car left a piece o’ windshield glass in my arm. Turns out it’s pretty useful for cuttin’ zip ties. And I’m never gonna complain about you makin’ me hide paper clips in my wrist cuff again. I may not be able to make fancy stuff, but I can sure pick a lock in record time with ‘em.” 

“You can’t complain about it anyway, that’s the cuff I gave you to replace yours after Chernobyl,” Mac says. He thinks there’s something he should be remembering. Oh wait, Murdoc. “Jack, what about Murdoc?”

“I took Captain Nutbar’s keys when I knocked him out. He’s just gonna have to sit there in his own little cell till the cops show up. Figure if he thought you couldn’t get out, he can’t either.” Jack’s tone switches from lighthearted to concerned. “Oh my gosh, kid, what happened to your hands?”

“He stepped on them,” Mac mutters. “Think they’re broken.” Funny, it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.

“Aw kid.” Jack sighs. “We’re gonna get you to a hospital, get those taken care of, and you’ll be back to takin’ apart my phone and makin’ crazy stuff outta my car radio before you know it. It’s gonna be okay.” Mac nods. Jack’s here, Jack is safe, Jack came for him. Everything is going to be fine. 


End file.
